


A Feeling Called Shame

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Brief mentions of child abuse, Gen, IDK I didn't mean to write fanfiction about the founding fathers but here we are, More like fan fiction of fan fiction of fan fiction but..., whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6347779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Martha meets her brother for the first time, she can't imagine how much he will change her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Feeling Called Shame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wind_Ryder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/gifts), [writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/gifts).



> Hahaha. I didn't think I would do this. But I did. My friends are the worst enablers. This work was inspired by this one: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6289198 (which you should read to before this one to understand it) which was in turn inspired by this one: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5626945/chapters/12961048 (which you don't need to read to get this fic). So ya know. Fan fiction about fan fiction about fan fiction. Normal stuff. There are some brief mentions of child abuse, but it's never really described.

Martha Laurens’ life had always been the same. It had always been a series of meaningless routines that, when compounded, created her life. The sun would rise, and she would wake up early. She loved the early hours of the day; it was the time when she could let her mind race away from her. She would listen to the birds from her window until her mother woke her up, and then Martha would slowly plod down the stairs, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She’s take her place at the table, her father reading the paper, and her mother stirring artificial sweetener in her coffee. 

 

Martha had always loved that part, the part where she was with her family. The part of her day when she would watch her mother and father look at each other like they belonged together. It made Martha feel like… she was a part of something. 

 

The Laurens’ were an old southern family, proud of the fact that they had ancestors going further back than the age of the country itself. This pride was extended to Martha Laurens, who knew what family she was a part of. She was proud of it, she was proud to be a part of something so wonderful.

 

Martha would always want that sliver of time during breakfast to last for eternity.

 

But, nothing could last forever, and as soon as Martha had finished off her usual breakfast (pancakes on Monday, french toast on Friday, and Froot Loops the rest of the week), she was excused from the table to get ready for the day. She would put on the same uniform, and although she had always wished to be able to wear pants (so she could run more easily), she was glad for the steady comfort that a uniform provided. 

 

Martha then brushed her long brown hair, which took her a long time. Martha found herself wishing to cut it shorter, but her father had said it would make her look like a lesbian, and her mother said that short hair wasn’t how the hair of a southern belle should look. Either way, Martha was fine with that. Her parents knew her best interests, and she could trust that that was their best judgment. 

 

She would then grab her backpack, and then sneak her latest book inside, before going downstairs. It wasn’t like reading was forbidden in her household, but her parents weren’t the most fond of books with too much radical material, or of something that would distract her. From what, they never said. Martha though that she was lucky to have parents that looked out for her like that.

 

Once she got downstairs, she would wait for the school bus to take her. Her father didn’t want her to have to endure the ride to school with the other children, but her mother said that it would build character. So, she went to school in the bus. She didn’t have anyone to sit with on the bus, but that was fine with her. She would take out her book and read.

 

However, this entire routine was placed off balance one strange Saturday. Her father had just left on a business trip, to some place far away. She was working diligently on her homework. Well, as diligently as nine-year-old can on an acrostic poem about dinosaurs. Her mother walked into the room in a rush, carrying her usual purse.

 

“Where are you going mom?” Martha asked, looking up from the table. She put her pencil down, and turned towards her mother.

“I’m just going to visit someone peach, that’s all,” her mother replies. Her mother’s stiletto heels are glossy enough to reflect Martha’s pale face.

 

“Okay. When will you come back?” Martha asked, hoping it would be sooner, rather than later. Martha was always anxious with one parent gone, but both parents gone? She would rather not have to sit through that.

 

“I don’t know. Probably after lunch. I’ll have Maria make you something for lunch, okay? I love you,” her mother said. Martha was content with the answer, and went back to writing her poem about dinosaurs.

 

~~~

 

Martha heard the key in the lock, and she toed her shoes on. She quickly ran downstairs to her mother.

 

Her mother had returned with someone who looked vaguely like her father. He was a boy, older than her. He was wearing a disheveled sweater, and his lips had a piece of rice stuck to them. He stood in front of her, and Martha continued to look at him. She hoped she wasn’t being rude. Her father had always yelled at her for looking too long at people, and he yelled even more if it was a man. She tried to be polite, and held out her hand. He took it, and shook it with all the grace of a penguin. Martha then did the next most polite thing she could think of.

 

“Do you want to play with me?” She asked, trying her best to seem like a gracious host.

 

“Uh….” the boy seemed hesitant. Finally, he accepted her offer.

 

Martha grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the backyard. She wanted to run, but running inside the house was strictly forbidden by her father, so she did her best to speed walk. She realized that it was completely silent, and decided that she had to say something to break it up.

 

“I’m going to be on the field hockey team,” she said. She bounds into the backyard, and begins to set up nets. She then grabbed a stick, and gave it to the boy. He stared at her, with a puzzled expression painted on his face. She decided to clarify.

 

“It’s no fun just hitting it by myself,” she said. Martha decided to get things started by running after the ball that was sitting still in the yard. When she was moving, she didn’t have to think about talking. She worried that he wouldn’t chase after her, but after a moment of hesitation, he bounded after her. 

 

She struck the ball, but he just laughed. She decided to be a good host and teach him how to play better. They stood in the yard for the better part of an hour, first stretching (which was always critical), and then playing. After he, who she learned is named John, and is in fact her half brother, hit a successful goal, she decided to call it a day. She led him inside, and toed off her shoes like she always did.

 

“It’s rude,” John said softly. Martha contemplated this for a second, her mouth falling slightly open. She resorted to what her father always repeated when he didn’t tip waitresses.

 

“It’s…. their, uh, their job?” She said. She hoped that it would be enough to make her still seem like a gracious host.

 

“So you want to make it harder?” He snaps back. Martha felt a feeling, alien to her, rise in her stomach. It washed over her like a wave. She stared at the ground and tried hard not to cry. Her father had always told her that big girls didn’t cry. They just went and did some other housework. She willed the tears forming to stay in her eyes. She didn’t want to disappoint someone.

 

“You didn’t, uh, have to….” John said, flustered. “I, uh, didn’t mean…”

 

Martha continued to consider what John had said. She tried to put herself in the shoes of her maid. She frowned.

 

“But, you’re right,” she said. She held out her hand, and olive branch of sorts. “Anyway, I’ve always wanted an older brother.”

 

~~~

 

During dinner, John said something in Spanish. Martha realized that she knew someone who was bilingual. She had always wanted to be able to speak another language. She had always figured that if she knew another language, she would be able to find more words to express what she meant. 

 

“You speak Spanish?” She said.

 

“My, uh, my mother taught me,” he said, glancing down at his plate. His face suddenly clouded with recollection.

 

“Can you teach me?” She asked. She was both curious about the language, and she also wanted to be kind.

 

He started to object when her mother interjected.

 

“I think that’s a wonderful idea” her mother said.

 

~~~

 

Martha and her mother took John to his apartment. There was something about a food delivery that she wasn’t quite clear about, but her brother was her brother, so she was going to go with the two. Martha stared out the window while her mother and brother put away the groceries.

 

When it was time to go, she tried out her Spanish.

 

“Buenos noches!” She said.

 

“Buenas noches,” he corrected. Martha liked this. It felt like a new kind of home, a new kind of family.

 

~~~

They celebrated John’s birthday. Martha and her mother gave him gifts that they had worked hard to pick out. His face lit up looking at his new sketch book. Martha smiled.

 

“Stay here with us,” her mother asked. John, after a brief moment of hesitation, nodded his head yes. The party continued until their father walked into the door.

 

John dropped his plate of cake on the ground. The frosting scattered off into a red, white, and blue mess. The colors bled together until Martha couldn’t make sense of the mess. The shards of glass blinked back at her like the jewels on a necklace, the plate completely destroyed.

 

“Henry,” her mother said. “We should talk.” 

 

Martha and John were led away. Martha began to panic, her parents had never done this before. It had always been that same routine. Her father came home, her mother took his coat, and they had a pleasant conversation. Rinse and repeat. This, this? This was completely different.

 

“What’s going on?” she asked. John was led to a chair. Martha felt the panic welling up inside of her. She tried again. “What is going on?!?!?!” She thought about what could be happening. “Are Mom and Dad fighting?” She asked softly. She hoped not. She didn’t want her perfect family to come to an end.

 

Her father came back down the stair, and asked John to come with him. John followed him to the car. 

 

~~~

 

John came back after an ordeal. Martha doesn’t know what happened, she had only heard panicked calls and hushed discussions behind closed doors. 

 

“What happened?” She asked.

 

“Fell in the shower,” he said. She kissed the side of his head to try to make the hurt go away.

 

~~~

 

Later, Samantha goes through a trial. For something called a divorce. Martha decides to research this, but only becomes confused. It seems like something that would tear her perfect family apart. She doesn’t know why it’s happening. She can’t wrap her head around what had changed from the perfect moments in time, when they would all eat their breakfast together.

 

After the trial she approaches her mother.

 

“Why are you getting a divorce?” she asks.

 

“Your father was a terrible man, Martha. I couldn’t be around him any longer, in good conscious,” her mother says.

 

Martha feels tears coming. She feels herself coming undone, exploding even. She doesn’t like the feel of it. Suddenly, she snaps.

 

“Why couldn’t you have stayed with him? We were a perfect family, none of us were doing anything wrong, we were all dong our parts,” she says. Tears begin to stream down her face, rivers in the florescent lights of her mother’s new house. “We were together and happy and then you had to go and rip this family apart,” she says, slipping down, onto the ground. “I tried my best to be a good daughter for you both, and this is how you repay me?” With this, she curls up into a ball. “By breaking the family up!?” Martha can’t continue any longer. She can’t stand the thought of having to start new routines in a new place, and she can’t bear to think of leaving her old life. The thought of it is too much.

 

“Your father is a terrible man,” her mother whispers, crouching down onto the ground with her. 

 

“How?” Martha says, puzzled.

 

“He abused your brother. Your father did some terrible things to him, and I couldn’t take it any longer. I couldn’t be married to a man who would do something so terrible to something so innocent,” Martha’s mother says. She wraps her arms around Martha, and holds her close.

 

Martha feels a familiar feeling, from that day she played on the yard with John. It overcomes her again, like a tsunami. Suddenly, she can place a finger on what it is. Vergüenza. Shame.

 

~~~

 

She and her mother try to find John again. He had apparently moved to an apartment further north. Her mom tries to show up every day for a week, but he does not answer the door. He may not even be living there. It may be another trick her father had played on them.

 

But Martha doesn’t lose hope. She tries to find her brother that she had only known for a week. Every night before bed, she prays that fate will bring them back together, like two boats lost in the ocean, colliding because of a current that decided to bring them together. Maybe they were more like the great pacific garbage patch, two pieces of trash brought together by the currents. Sometimes, Martha certainly feels like trash.

 

She feels shame wash over her every time she walks into her father’s house, every time she looks at her field hockey equipment. She never plays field hockey after John left. Instead, she reads about far off lands so she can forget. Forget about how she couldn’t find what she was looking for, no matter how hard she tried. 

 

Sometimes she wonders where he is, what he is doing. When she applies to college, she tries to imagine John somewhere safe. Somewhere where he is finally loved, maybe in a nice, comfy dorm room where he can draw whatever he wants. She hopes with all her heart that maybe someday, she will see him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, you made it to the end of this? Thank you for reading it! I feel like I messed up some stuff (like grammar) but... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Thanks to all of my enabler friends for encouraging me to write stuff.


End file.
